


Rain of blessings

by ShippyAngel



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:22:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippyAngel/pseuds/ShippyAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been exactly one year since Eli passed away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain of blessings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I mean no profits with this story. The show and its characters belong to their owners.

  
_"Jerusalem weather in the winter -starts in November and goes through April- is a bit less predictable than in the summer. (…) Because Israel’s water supply is so dependent on rainfall, Israelis hope, pray and beg the Heavens for winter rains. A particularly torrential rain is know as ‘rains of blessing’ in Hebrew.”_  
(source: jerusalem-insiders-guide[dot]com)

 

* * *

 

It’s been exactly one year since Eli passed away.

The night creeps in as the last insistent sunbeams try to slip through the cloudy Tel Aviv sky.

(Ziva can’t feel their warmth spread to her bones though.)

Between her and the field, there’s only the wind — nothing else. And so she tucks her frozen hands into her jacket pockets, searching from a warmth she knows she won’t find there.

There’s an apathetic emptiness trying to coexist with the sharp pain on her chest that comes from the injustice of losing someone you love. The duality makes her feel jaded and unusually desolate. But despite all the suffering (that only now she allows herself to feel), moments like these remind her that she’s human; that she might still stand a chance in life.

Ziva stands stoically —although somehow overpowered— in front of four trees. The broad-leaved plants appear in different heights and dissimilar leaf sizes, symbolizing the same heartfelt ritual however: an attempt to perpetuate the lives of loved ones who are no longer around.

The brunette frees her hands to touch the branches as if fondling her deceased close relatives. Her sister, her mom, her brother and her father — in this order.

Ziva’s life passes before her eyes through flashbacks. And among such an intimate, ancient Israeli tradition, she finds herself contemplating the changes in her life.

Hm, to change, she thinks, what a brave, scary verb (which has been the one constant in her life, ironically). Changes came to Ziva in different purposes and different names, even. She’s changed so much… From bed-sheets to hairstyles, addresses and job descriptions. From car preferences to movie collections. She became softer, more damaged…

Not all changes are good, she’s come to understand that.

Ziva sighs, in-breathing the humid air to regain some inner balance.

And that’s when something clicks.

She hasn’t been a Federal Agent for months now, but her instincts take over the moment she hears a car brake being triggered. A door shuts and, despite all the miles separating the place where she’s standing and the road far behind, she can tell that the vehicle is parked close to hers.

It’s only when the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up that she detects someone is watching her. (She knows it by the uncanny feeling down her spine.) Facing the ground and resting a hand above her eyes to block out the world and concentrate, Ziva silently utters the same words that she whispered against the Wailing Wall a year before.

After she says her blessings and a sorrowful goodbye, the Israeli turns around and distinguishes the shape of a man who’s patiently standing on the sidewalk.

She chooses to focus on the sight of an automobile moving away, realizing that the sun is finally gone and how the temperature has dropped drastically. Ziva wonders why it hasn’t rained yet, considering that the precipitation has been constantly eminent for days.

She walks towards the person that she knows like a book — a tall American man, a little overweight but incredibly handsome, holding a suitcase over his right shoulder.

When they are close enough to touch, Ziva’s eyes water as she stares at Tony — half astonished, half delighted. Forgetting how to spell a cohesive sentence, she looks at her convertible and then back at him, as if asking how could he tell where to find her.

(Despite their weekly conversations over Skype and on the phone, she’s given him the name of the village where she currently lives in, but not the address per se. She’s talked about the place where she delivered her family’s eulogies; the place where someday her own would rest too. It strikes her that Tony came to Israel today, disregarding the risk of his eleven-hour-flight becoming fruitful if she wasn’t exactly where she is right now.)

Ziva wonders if she deserves such a man; knowing deep down inside that she doesn’t.

Tony struggles against his desire to wrap his arms around her and looks down at his feet. He bites back a smirk and explains, “No one would ever leave those tire marks on the road.” He tries to tease her, but his tone is gentle and his eyelashes are damp. “No one but you.”

Ziva nods suspiciously, taking a step forward. “How is everybody?”, she asks with a tenderness in her eyes that’s melting his insides.

"Missing you", Tony is quick to reply.

They inspect each other without embarrassment, cherishing the familiarity of just being within reach.

"What about you?", Tony inquires, fidgeting. And before she comes up with an answer, he resolves on his own. "Oh I know, you’re fine." His voice is playful but his eyes look powerless, killing her in ten different ways. "You’re always fine, right?"

Ziva steps closer and impulsively loops her arms around his neck. (One of her greatest changes, so far, has been to admit her weaknesses and to let people in.) “I am now”, she hums, before closing her eyes and softening her lips to fit into his.

Tony gasps at first, but is fast to react with equal ferocity, brushing her tongue against his with growing fervor and holding her hips.

The kiss is full of longing and vulnerability: exactly what they both need. And once they break apart, Tony sweeps Ziva into a hug and she holds him in return, breathing his scent through his collar.

They only let go when heavy raindrops start to fall, soaking their clothes in a matter of seconds. Tony resentfully steps back, looking up as if threatening the gods for breaking such a perfect moment.

Ziva laughs and tilts her head back, opening her arms to welcome the cold water as if the torrential rain is capable of purifying her soul.

"Hey!" He calls out, breaking her introspective moment and pointing to her car — the only place where they can find some shelter.

With blue lips and trembling limbs, they climb in —her behind the steering wheels and him on the passenger side—, dampening the seats.

Ziva catches her breath before asking, "Where are you staying?"

Tony looks down, blowing some hot hair on his icy fingers and avoiding her eyes. “I don’t know yet”, he shrugs, finally looking at her. “I came straight from the airport.”

Her eyes go darker, leaving no doubt as to where he’s crashing tonight (and whenever he visits Israel, hopefully). Ziva turns over the engine, pulling the car out on the highway. After turning on the windshield wipers, she rests the back of her hand on the console between them.

Tony easily catches her gesture and doesn’t even think twice before taking her right hand in his left one; fitting their palms.

(They share a grin at the memory of sharing half-confessions before a car accident took place not so long ago.)

Ziva steals a glance at him before turning her attention to the foggy road, experiencing both the anxiety and the bliss of introducing this reliable man to her new place; new lifestyle. She seems to warm from the unmistakable heat that comes from his body and feels grateful somehow. And lucky. Alive.

She rubs her palm against his, looking to the four trees becoming progressively smaller on the rear-view mirror.

The image of a home-cooked food, two glasses of wine, a rainy weather outside and casual conversation comes to mind and she feels the pain on her chest dissipates. A seed of hope take its place instead and she lets it grow slowly, as though nurtured by the rain of blessings that’s surrounding them in the empty Israeli streets.

Let it rain, Ziva thinks to herself.

Not all changes are bad, after all.


End file.
